instant action when the opportune moment
arrives. When nature has fully ripened an opportunity man must stretch
out his hand and pluck it. Inventions may be defined as great minds
detecting the strategic moment in nature; Galileo finding a lens in the
ox's eye; Watt witnessing steam lift an iron lid; Columbus observing an
unknown wood drifting upon the shore. To untold multitudes nature
offered these opportune moments for discovery, but only Galileo, Watt
and Columbus were ready to seize them. As for the rest, this is our
only answer to nature: "While thy servant was busy here and there, the
strategic moment was gone."

This majestic principle often appears in history. There is a strategy
in Providence. Nations, like individuals, have their crisis hours.
Through events God makes all society plastic, and then raises up some
great man to stamp his image and superscription upon the nation's hot
and glowing heart. As scholars move back along the pathway of history,
they discern in each great epoch these strategic conditions. How
opportune the moment when Jesus Christ appeared!

Alexander's march had scattered every whither the seeds of learning;
the Greek language had turned the whole world into one great whispering
gallery, in which the nations were assembled; all the provinces around
the Mediterranean were linked together by the newly completed system of
roads; the Roman judge was in every town to set forth the rights of
citizens of the empire; the Roman soldier was there to protect all who
brought messages of peace; the long-expected hour had struck. Then
Christianity set forth from Bethlehem upon its errand of love. Along
every highway ran the eager feet of the messengers of peace and
good-will. Events were fully ripe, and soon Christianity was upon the
throne of the Caesars.

How strategic that epoch called the fourth century! He who sat in
Caesar's palace looked out upon a dying empire. The old race was worn
out with war and wine and wealth and luxury. Civilization seemed about
to perish, and society was fast sinking back into barbarism. To the
north of the Alps were the forest children, ruddy and robust, with
their glorious youth full upon them. These young giants needed the
dying language and literature and religion, and these great
institutions needed their young, fresh blood. But between lay the
granite walls builded from sea to sea. Now mark what Charles Kingsley
called "the strategy of Prov